


Stem Game

by Delcat



Series: The Skies We're Under [11]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Bondage, Cages, Choking, Collars, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Leashes, M/M, Masochism, Nightmares, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Slurs, Smoking, Stuttering, Submission, disturbing mental imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4091593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delcat/pseuds/Delcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasies are rarely simple, and almost never what you imagine.  Variables are everything.</p>
<p>(Fills in how Wilson came to be on the Island, and glimpses at something further back than that...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. October 1928

**Author's Note:**

> In the company of strangers  
> In the quiet of the railway station  
> Running scared  
> Laying low  
> Seeking out the poorer quarters  
> Where the ragged people go  
> Looking for the places  
> Only they would know

_October 1928_

It was a simple formula. You found a streetlight, and women happened.

Shivering miserably on a corner, soaked to the bone, Wilson reflected that variables were everything.

He hadn't expected the right streetlights to be so close to the wrong streets. He hadn't expected to get lost. He definitely hadn't expected the rain. It was the absolute worst night for this, he should just find his way home and...

Wilson sighed mutely and wrapped his arms around himself. It _had_ to be tonight. Things were...escalating. 

He had been sabotaging his own work for half the week, stalling the last component, and the voice on the other end of the radio was getting suspicious. The machine should have been done by now, they both knew it, but Wilson couldn't make up his mind on whether he wanted that, and he couldn't ask the questions that would let him make that choice, and he certainly couldn't explain _why_ , not without understanding it himself.

So he had fled the house for the city. He could end this. He'd just been alone too long, he was going insane in that shack, and he could fix that. He just had to fix...something that _should_ have been fixed a long time ago.

On the other hand, it was now verging on a long time ago plus at least the hour before the rain had broken his watch.

This time, the sigh was audible. He wanted to be home. He wanted a hot bath. He wanted more than an hour's sleep.

He wanted to hear that voice again, caustic and encouraging in turns, focused on him and _focusing_ him--

He wanted too many things right now.

"Hey, honey."

Wilson jumped, taking a step back toward the wall, away from the dark. He wanted to not get killed, that was on the list suddenly.

"Whoa, cowboy, calm down." The figure stepped into the light, and for a moment he considered bolting down the alley--she was taller than _he_ was--but she was spreading her hands disarmingly, and there was something reassuring about the indifference in her voice. "Not gonna hurt ya."

He brushed himself off, turning away to hide the blush. "I...am perfectly capable of defending myself, thank you."

"Sure, kid. Let's not test that, okay?" She lit a cigarette, sizing him up. "It's a shitty night to be out. I've got a room."

"That's good."

The look she gave him went from expectant to vaguely pitying before it clicked, and he struggled to regain ground. "Oh. ...oh. I, uh. Uh. I was. ...I have money--"

The crack in his voice was mercifully muted as she clamped a hand around his mouth. "Don't say that too loud." She glanced into the alleyway and sighed as he struggled. " _Jesus._ Just...follow me. _Quietly._."

He squirmed free and watched her warily as she started off. He was fairly sure this wasn't how it was supposed to go, and the alley was looking more and more appealing. He had been vaguely aware of someone there, and it was only occurring to him on the other side of his panic that it was probably the _proper_ sort of improper woman, just afraid to approach _him_ , because he _was_ tall and it _was_ the wrong part of town, and in fact probably the poor meek thing was being intimidated _away_ from him by this impertinent strumpet, and anyway he didn't imagine he could even catch up to her at this rate--

There was a sound from the alley like a cat being skinned, and he found that actually, it was quite easy to match just about anyone's pace with the proper motivation.

The rain was blinding, and he struggled not to lose track of the woman as she led him through the streets. Still, when they came to a halt and she unlocked the door, he hesitated, pawing water out of his eyes as he put a price tag on the room inside.

"I, uh...don't have _that_ much money."

"In."

She pushed him over the threshold, and he hovered there uncertainly as she locked up and shrugged off her coat.

"Stay there, I'll get you a towel. Or five." She crossed to a door and listened briefly before opening it. "And get those wet clothes off before you catch...whatever's popular, consumption probably."

Something jerked in Wilson's chest. "--what, all of them?"

She paused, staring at the ceiling, then closed the door behind her without responding.

Wilson pressed his palms to his temples until the embarrassment drained out through his fingertips, then looked around bleakly.

He had expected...he wasn't sure what he had expected, exactly, but he had a fair belief that the seedy underbelly of the city should be...seedy. Dens of squalor shouldn't have a fire in the hearth and a quilt on the bed. His own _home_ didn't have a quilt on the bed. Or a bed, for that matter. He had cannibalized it for the metal from the frame a month ago.

The fire was inviting enough to break through his reluctance, though. He unfastened his vest, then peeled his soaked shirt away from his skin with some difficulty, and exhaled softly as the heat washed over him. He almost continued, stopped. He'd become very used to the feeling of being watched lately, but...

There was a glass statue of a kitten with large eyes and a bow around its neck staring at him from the nightstand.

He cautiously turned it to face the wall.

"Heads up."

Wilson caught a towel to the face as he looked up. As he clawed it off, tamping down panic, the woman sat down on the bed and picked up the statue with an irritated sigh.

"Shit, sorry honey, I forgot this was here." She put it back down, turned away from them both. "Gift from my girlfriend."

He toweled off his hair, gritting his teeth. Get it over with. Just get it over with, and smash the radio.

"My girlfriend."

No more voices.

"That I have sex with."

No more unseen eyes on him in the night.

"Because I like having sex with women."

No more orders. No more building.

"Like you like having sex with men."

No more staring at the ceiling without sleep, thinking and wondering and _wanting_ \--

Wilson stopped as the conversation caught up with him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Or theoretically having sex with men, I'm guessing, or you wouldn't be--okay, oh shit. Shit." She sat up as he collapsed onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands. "Look, sure, you're gonna _think_ there was a better way to say that, but I have tried a _lot_ of ways and...look, do you...need a hug or something? Fuck."

Wilson didn't respond, shoulders shaking in black laughter. Everything he'd thought he could accomplish, disproven before it began. As usual. Ludicrous. Pointless. _Useless_.

"Calm _down_ , Jesus." She lit a cigarette. "Would it help if I told you it's not obvious?"

It did. A little. Just a little. Not much, but he was able to raise his head again, quell the hysteria.

"What if I asked about the guy you're avoiding? That one _is_ obvious, you've been lookin' through me all night." She laid a hand on his back, stopped when he flinched, stroked it gently when he relaxed. "Who are you seeing, honey?"

He sighed heavily and looked into the fire. Was there any point in lying? "I...don't know. I, I _haven't_ seen him, just heard him."

"You sure about that?"

Wilson was quiet. He hadn't, of course, not really, but there had been...glimpses. Images before sleeping, during, while waking, in shadows. Sometimes in his sleep he woke himself by reaching for something that wasn't there.

Maybe wasn't there at all.

Was that what he was really afraid of? Putting in the last pieces, throwing the switch, and...nothing, another failure, an elaborate prank, or worse, a delusion?

No.

Worse than that.

"Hey."

He shook himself out of his reverie but didn't look back. "...I should go. I've wasted enough of your time."

"C'mon, sugar, don't be like that. Gotta do something to earn my pay, right?"

Wilson stiffened, suddenly reminded of his half-clothed state. "Uh."

"Side business." She turned him firmly, and he crossed his arms across his chest nervously. "Let me read your palm."

He couldn't hold back a laugh, smile lopsided and weak but genuine. "I'm a man of science, I don't..." Well. He had, once, but that had been a very long time ago. Not good times, either.

"Humor me, darling."

Wilson shook his head, then shrugged helplessly and extended his hand. The least he could do as a gentleman was indulge a long-suffering lady.

"All right, sweetness, close your eyes." She ran a fingertip over his wrist as he obliged and he tried not to squirm. "Hm. Interesting lifeline."

"'Interesting'?"

"Lifelines usually are, kid. Let's see...oh, lucky you. You're going to meet a tall, dark stranger."

Wilson smirked, and he could feel her grinning back at him.

"What else, what else...fame, fortune, the usual...good luck with rabbits...and...oh, one more thing..."

She dug her fingernails into his wrist suddenly, and as his lips parted in a gasp hers closed over them, breathing smoke deep into his lungs. He tried to pull away, coughing, but the room was already spinning, out of sorts, and he couldn't manage more than a leaden twitch as she guided him down onto the bed.

"A little too much trust."

The woman was a flash of shadow, a monstrous silhouette of irregular talons and serrated teeth outlined against the fire, and Wilson closed his eyes to it and let oblivion claim him.

The succubus took a slow drag on her cigarette as her client settled, breathing in buried thoughts with it, spreading his desires in front of her mind's eye like a deck of cards. It was shamefully easy work--pluck the threads, weave the web, cast the net over his skeletal chest and the uneven, shallow breath inside it.

At length, she smirked, then grinned.

"Pleasant dreams, sweetness."


	2. Time Between Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Between Time

It was dark, but Wilson kept his eyes slitted closed anyway. It made the waiting easier. It was the waiting that was hard.

The club was never quiet, and he could keep time by the coming and going of the couple in the next room--one voice constant, the other changing, both brought to fever pitch with at least some amount of precision.

Listening was its own problem, though. He shifted uncomfortably at an unrestrained moan, wondering not for the first time what it'd be like to be more than a set piece--

The door latched and Wilson opened his eyes.

First customer of the night.

There was a pause, then a voice--rough, derisive. "Bluebird of Happiness, huh."

Wilson was silent--always silent, had to be--but he bit the inside of his lip. He was bitterly aware of the painted posters on the walls, the more hastily printed fliers that went from one set of hands to the next to the next. The beautiful woman in the gilded cage.

There was a reason the cage's cover was locked down.

"Wonder what it'd take to get you to sing..."

Wilson stifled a sigh at the line, although this one...delivered it better than most. He caught a glimpse of his hand as he parted the small slit in the cover and took hold of the silver chain of the leash running out of it--gloved, with long, slender fingers. Appealing. Inaccessible.

Then the cloth parted again, and he reconsidered the word 'inaccessible'. And, for that matter, 'inadequate'.

The man chuckled softly. "Don't get your feathers ruffled, doll. Just take it nice and slow."

Wilson breathed deep, gathering his nerve, then leaned in at a warning tug of the leash and closed his lips around the head of the stranger's cock. He hesitated a moment, paralyzed as much by the taste of smoke as by the size, but the soft, pleased growl from above him sparked deep in his stomach and he moved his tongue in small, nervous strokes, trying to will away the tightness in his chest.

"Good girl...just like that. Keep going..."

His hands closed briefly into fists behind him, then released. He had been called worse, handled worse, and the coaxing was intoxicating, but it was a tiny reminder that it wasn't meant for him. He couldn't _afford_ to be intoxicated. He had let himself be swayed once, left overwhelmed with need by the gentle ministrations of a man as silent as he was, and had been so absorbed in frantic self-pleasure that he hadn't heard the next customer come in. _Or_ leave.

It wasn't a mistake he'd make twice. It wasn't a mistake he _could_ make twice. Wilson tugged miserably at his handcuffs as he traced a vein with his tongue, aching to feel the pulse of blood under his fingertips.

One hand rested on the top of the cage, and Wilson tensed, swallowing. That was the tell for the leash to tighten, pull him down and keep him in place while they fucked him in, and he wasn't--he wasn't ready, not yet, not with something this _size_ , he'd choke, and--and--

 _And oh God, he didn't want it over that_ fast--

But while there was a pull at the chain, it was brief, chastizing, and he couldn't hold back a tiny whimper of relief.

"Relax, kitten. _Slow._ We've got all night."

He exhaled quietly and tried to oblige, lingering between strokes to play his tongue over the tip, but the taste of smoke had gone from unsettling to addictive. He was impossibly, uselessly hard, unable to even grind against the cage to chase threads of pleasure, but he couldn't keep from rocking up on his knees toward the silhouette of the stranger anyway. His breath caught as the man's cock slid into the back of his throat, and he pulled at his bonds again in frustration. He could do so much more with his hands, change those soft murmurs into something louder, not begging but _demanding_ , break his tone from detached into authoritative, and choose from there whether he wanted to court punishment, to turn demands into threats, tease him into _using_ the leash, and there was no satisfaction in the pulsing of his hips but he couldn't stop, it was so damnedably _slow_ \--

Wilson stifled a cry as his customer pulled back, heard the clink of a lock falling away, then in the next moment of blinding light understood everything, horribly.

"Heh." The man dropped the thick fabric cage cover to the floor and Wilson stared at it, frozen, face burning, eyes burning, lips still slick and parted. "Figured."

"Don't," Wilson's voice came out as a whisper, and he tried to strengthen it, couldn't. "Please don't."

"Not _quite_ the mockingbird I expected..."

"Go away. Please. Don't."

"Not at all, really."

He leaned down and Wilson strained back against the leash, curling in on himself, eyes closed, voice thick. 

" _Please don't look at me._ "

"Shhh..." A gloved hand reached in to stroke his cheek and he flinched, shaking. "Calm down, little bird."

"Don't..."

The hand tipped his chin up. "Look at me."

There _was_ authority in that, and Wilson reluctantly obeyed. The man holding his leash wasn't...wasn't handsome, exactly, in the usual sense, but he wasn't unappealing, either, and there was no malice in his eyes--amusement, and a glint of something mischievous, but...

He dropped his gaze before he could start staring, shame and fear still tight in his chest. People talked about eyes you could get lost in, but they rarely mentioned the dragons lurking in those unmapped territories.

"Don't be shy, pet. We've already gotten to _know_ each other, haven't we?"

This time the whisper was inaudible, and Wilson squeezed his eyes shut as his head was tilted up again.

"Didn't quite catch that."

"...are you going to hurt me..."

There was a long moment of silence, and when he looked up, the amusement was gone from the stranger's gaze.

"What kind of a man do you take me for, pal?"

Wilson gritted his teeth, face hot. "...one expecting a bluebird."

" _Heh._ " Wilson jumped as the man barked laughter. "You think people buy that? No, of course they do, someone always does. They don't ask why they'd hide a woman like that because they don't want to think further than the price of admission. Pretty little lie. I _specialize_ in pretty little lies."

Wilson shook his head. "Then why..."

"Just wanted to see how the trick worked."

Slow. Keep it slow. Misdirection. Pretty little lies to keep him busy while he picked the locks. Wilson bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Why had he _dreamed_ that anyone could want--

"You're a lovely little bonus, though."

Wilson inhaled sharply as a slender hand ran through his hair, down his neck, settled on his collar. "You--what are you--"

"I paid for you and I am going to _have_ you, pet." He opened the cage door with one hand and drew a heavy stroke along Wilson's inseam with the other, and he arched into the touch with a broken cry. "You were enjoying yourself enough before."

He reached behind him and undid the handcuffs easily, but Wilson stayed still, comprehension dawning. "Wait. Wait, I can't--you can't want me to--"

The leash jerked him forward and out of the cage in a single, solid yank, and he was barely able to flounder before it pulled him up and held him, low enough not to strangle, high enough to choke. 

"I don't think you're in a position to say what I can't want, little bird."

Wilson grasped at the collar with both hands, trembling, panting, and managed to squeak out clarification. "You--can't want _me_ \--"

The other man drew Wilson in against his body, supporting him against his chest to let him draw breath even as the smooth movement of his cock sliding between his legs tore it from him in a gasp.

"I don't think you're listening." He kept maddeningly still as he murmured into his ear, seemingly oblivious to his desperation. The fabric of Wilson's pants was thin enough that he could feel the tip of his length pressing against his entrance, could feel the obscene heat teasing against him, but he was still suspended, unable to push down into it, unable now even to rock his hips in a shadow play of sex, and dear God, he wanted even that, even the ghost of it. "I am going to fuck you, and I am going to fuck you thoroughly and completely. I am going to take every inch of you for my own and devastate it until I am satisfied, and I do _not_..." He drew Wilson closer for a spare instant, turning the air in his lungs into heat, into a crackling moan. "...accept second best."

He dropped him abruptly to the floor, and Wilson reeled, panting and clutching at his throat, grasping for lucidity through the ringing of the blood in his ears. "-- _God_ \--"

The leash yanked him up again, to his knees, and the stranger leaned down to meet him, eyes sparking dark humor. "Endearing, and not inaccurate, but 'Maxwell' will suffice."

Wilson didn't have time to respond before a fresh pull of the leash yanked him down flat on his chest, and he tasted blood as his chin hit the floor. The chain shifted, and leatherclad hands slid under his shirt from behind, long fingers with silver links double-wrapped around them digging into his stomach, then lower, drawing him up, positioning him carelessly. 

He took a shuddering breath and pushed himself onto his hands before he could be goaded into it. "--you said you wouldn't hurt me-- _ah_ \--" He clenched his teeth as the man-- _Maxwell_ \--pressed two fingers deep inside him, the sudden stinging rush threatening to knock him back to the floor.

"I said I wouldn't hurt you. I didn't say it wouldn't hurt." Maxwell grinned at the distressed sound Wilson made as he slid a third fingertip in, forcing him wider. "There's a difference."

Wilson shook helplessly, eyes half-shut, trying not to humiliate himself with the sounds he was making, failing. The cool slickness of the glove didn't begin to make up for the ruthless working of the hand under it, and Wilson thought dizzily that if this was a god, it was an ancient one, one that demanded sacrifice. He could live with that. He could live _for_ that.

For that as much as anything, he reached back as Maxwell pulled his hand away, risking the leash, risking a glance.

Maxwell raised an eyebrow, pausing at his entrance. "Little late to be changing your mind, isn't it, mockingbird?"

There was a click in Wilson's throat as he swallowed. "...Wilson." Then, after a moment: "Please...Maxwell."

"...heh." He stroked the base of Wilson's spine, and he shivered fitfully. " _Wilson_ , sweetheart?"

Wilson turned, face hot. "Yes, Maxwell."

There was a clink of silver, Maxwell's voice almost lazily calm. "I'm going to fuck you in now."

"Y-- _yes_ , Maxwe--"

Wilson choked on the name as he was viciously, blissfully filled with one smooth movement, and Maxwell settled only a moment to draw the leash tight before he started pounding into him, something like a satisfied purr resting on his lips as he dug his fingertips into Wilson's thigh. He hadn't lied, it hurt, it hurt beautifully, not in the rough pistoning of Maxwell's monstrous cock but in burning muscles, in legs and arms that barely supported him and spasming lungs, in the black-bruised cuts at his throat and his split lip, and when Wilson was allowed to gasp breath the pain didn't dissipate but _spiked_ , every sensation drawn taut by drunken vertigo.

"Pretty little slut. You should see how red your lips are." Maxwell punctuated his sentences by tightening the collar, giving Wilson a rhythm to work to, letting him draw enough air that he could press his hips up to accept his punishment, if not counter it. "How long has it been for you? Or...has it?" Wilson tensed, his face burning, and shivered at the coarse laughter it earned. "Never mind. You won't need anyone else." 

Maxwell leaned in over him, and Wilson panicked, suddenly overwhelmed, trying to move away--he couldn't go deeper, couldn't possibly--

Wilson went stock-still as Maxwell pushed away his half-shed pants to cup one hand around his cock.

"I'm going to make sure you're spoiled for me."

He didn't bother playing or petting, simply began stroking him roughly and expertly at the pace he was fucking him, and Wilson jerked his hips desperately, shaking from exertion and making ridiculous, animal sounds and not caring, trying to drown in the pleasure, trying to lock himself away in their bodies locked together, wanting it to last, let him be spoiled and ruined and used up but dear God let this one thing _last_ \--

"Fond of names, Wilson?"

Wilson cried out as Maxwell buried one hand in his hair and pulled, running his tongue along the blood dripping from his neck.

"Say mine." His voice was a low growl against his skin. "Say it, and keep saying it."

Wilson was breathless, quivering from exertion, and he struggled to keep the word straight. "M--M-Maxwell--Maxwell, please--" He felt his cock twitching inside him, his flesh outlined by him, and his voice rose and broke at the rush of heat filling him, hand and hips working mercilessly, forcing him over. "Maxwell, oh God, oh f-f--fuck, Maxwell _Maxwell--_ "

Maxwell drew the leash tight, biting down into Wilson's neck without warning, and he couldn't stop crying out as he came, spilling over himself, coating black leather in white heat, sound and light and thought distorted, lips still moving even as his lungs failed him.

_Maxwell, Maxwell, Maxwell._

Wilson shuddered as Maxwell pulled out and wiped both hand and cock off on his skin, and let himself be eased down onto the floor. He was filthy, aching, bleeding, exhausted, and for once in his miserable life, everything was all right.

He was quiet as Maxwell lit a cigar beside him, inhaling the smoke as he exhaled it. There were still sounds coming from other rooms--hell, the entire building had probably heard them--but there was no knock at the door. They were safe here. They were alone. They...

They.

"...Maxwell?"

"You can stop now, pet." Wilson flinched and blushed as a bare hand trailed over his aching neck. "Lovely little performance. You should take it on the road."

"Nngh--I--" He started to bite his lip, thought better of it, licked the split there instead. "...Maxwell. Are you...just going to leave?"

There was a pause, then a very gentle pull of the leash.

Wilson let himself be turned and looked fearfully into Maxwell's eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere."

There wasn't deceit there. Not in his eyes, at least. There was something that seemed to slow for an instant, far off, a twist of sadness and a foreign sensation like teeth scraping on bone that made him flinch sharply, but there wasn't...

Maxwell drew him against his chest and stroked his hair, and he closed his eyes, sighing. He was suddenly very tired--not exhausted from the ordeal he'd been put through, but just...tired.

"Sleep well, sweetheart."

Wilson made a soft, appreciative noise and let the world disappear.


	3. October 1928--Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 1928--Later

There shouldn't have been a window in the temporary apartment under the stairs, but there was, and a flurry of earwigs coruscated over the sill, falling with clicks and clatters to the floor beneath it, stacking into themselves, folding into abstract shapes.

Well. Not quite abstract. There were numbers in the way the creature put herself back together, delicate spirals and sets of geometry weaving into the shape of a woman, mathematics in the patterns being sewn into familiar flesh.

As she tapped off her cigarette, watching her lover, the succubus wondered if her client would get caught on the science or see how goddamn beautiful it was, every time, or fall in the middle somewhere.

Or if he would just scream at the apparent huge fucking pile of bugs. That was the usual response.

If only there was anything usual about this.

"May. Four minutes I'm away, you're sulking." There was a miniscule buzz on the sibilants as the last of the insects disappeared, but there was no trace of monstrosity in the figure that moved to close the window.

May huffed and splayed across the bed, a comfortable distance away from her client. "I'm not sulking, I'm starving. Did you bring back that fucker from the alley?"

"Bits."

"The good bits, I hope?"

The other succubus pursed her lips and trailed a hand through her lover's hair before producing a neatly-wrapped parcel from her bag. May grinned as she unwrapped it and pulled a bloody morsel of the would-be rapist out to admire. "Cora, you complete me."

"Nothing completes you." Cora kissed her temple lightly. "Insatiable. One meal and already on to the next?"

"...yeah." May lowered her hand from her lips, appetite suddenly lost. "...about that."

They both looked silently at Wilson.

After a long moment, Cora sat down next to him, giving a tiny shake of her head as he shuddered fitfully in his sleep and tracing her fingertips through the markings on his flesh--writhing shadows that pulsed beneath his skin, bleeding in long lines from his shoulder, his lungs, his eye, muddled, muddy, bloody. He curled in on himself tighter at her touch, and the shadows pooled aggressively at her fingertips as he pulled in a sharp breath.

"Hell of a show, isn't it?" It was sardonic enough, but there was a brittle edge to it, and May took a deep drag off her cigarette to try to smooth it off. "So either the whole goddamned city is crawling with Bliss or we picked the one charity case in it. You tell me, sweetness."

Cora shook her head, stroking Wilson's hair lightly. "Meat's clean."

"Kinda," May muttered, pushing the contents of the little package around with one claw and without much enjoyment.

"Clean for monsters. The city..." She shook her head. "It's not here. It's him."

"Patient zero. Great."

Cora closed her eyes, listening to Wilson's breathing, and the sharp radio-static buzz of the shadows twisted in his lungs. "...not quite."

May sighed smoke. "Well, whatever. Did we do this? Time paradox, or...something, I dunno, pissed off some tachyons, screwed the universal pooch? Was he supposed to die back there?"

"No." Cora traced one hand over the net her lover had set out, feeling along the threads, pulling on strings of possible realities. "Dragged to the alley. Used. But not killed. Despair, harder footsteps forward...but he would have fled to him." She frowned. "...him. Them?"

May closed her eyes herself, wincing as she remembered the intrusive scraping of a vicious outside element over the back of the dream. "Them, definitely. Good God, there'd better be, for his sake." She opened them again, shifting moodily. "So now what? What happens? He's just...marked, we just go?"

Cora didn't respond, instead pulling a blanket over Wilson, smoothing his hair as he sighed mutely.

"We just leave it? Another goddamned pelt for that fucking bird?"

"May. Language."

"What the _fuck_ about it?"

Cora stood, at last, and embraced her lover gently, kissing her neck. "It's very telling."

May groaned and covered her eyes, shaking her head. "Fuck. _Fuck._ You know how I feel about that damned kid, just because she...we didn't _ask_ for her..." She sighed heavily and stared at the darkness dripping from her client's eyes. "...we didn't used to _owe_ people, Cora."

"We didn't have things to owe."

Of course. That was the way it went. That was the deal. She had looked at that little dark-haired nightmare girl and seen the power behind her eyes, and she hadn't had to ask for her help, hadn't had to say _yes_ , hadn't had to say _save them_ , hadn't had to say _make them pay for my family_. She had simply accepted it as what had been needed, because it had, and the deal was you paid that need forward, you kept it going, you waited for the time someone needed her to appear again and you called her, or...

May didn't want to think about "or".

"Hold him."

Wilson stirred as Cora tilted his head back, and she covered his eyes, soothing him back down. "Shhhh..."

"Keep him under." May considered a series of tools before manifesting one and picking it up. "This may or may not hurt like hell."

"Don't do it over."

"Do I look like the kind of woman to overdo things to you?" May opened Wilson's mouth, surveying the inside briefly. "Don't answer that. Jesus. All right."

The molar took more than a little coaxing, and May winced at the extended, fleshy sound it made as it parted ways with her client's jaw, and the sudden grab at the bedspread and muffled cry it elicited. She glanced guiltily at her counterpart as she quieted him again and shrugged. 

"Damn." She turned the tooth, inspecting it, as Cora rubbed color back into Wilson's cheek. "What is it with humans and teeth, anyway?"

"Accessible bone."

"Honey, you know that doesn't make me feel _better_ , right?" She rolled it over the back of her fingers like a coin, passing it along under her palm to keep it going. "So now what? We take care of _this _, what about him?"__

__Cora shrugged. "Send him back. He'll forget, until he needs it."_ _

__"Lucky bastard." May flicked the tooth once more along her knuckles, then flipped it off her thumb. It shone briefly in the light from the fire, spinning in the air, before landing on her outstretched tongue. She swallowed and grinned at Cora. "Enh? Enhhh?"_ _

__She wrinkled her nose. "May. You're disgusting."_ _

__"You _like_ me disgusting." She patted her chest as she filed the tooth away internally. "Safer than pockets. Speaking of, if that's how we're playing it..." May reached for Wilson's discarded shirt. "You wanna take care of the rest, sweetness?"_ _

__"Mmm."_ _

__May shook out the contents of Wilson's wallet, not looking up as her lover applied bruises in the right places across the man's body. He'd put things together when he woke up. Not correctly, but conveniently._ _

__Anyway, it didn't hurt to have a little local currency. A very little. 'I have money' had been either an overstatement or wishful thinking. Or did he honestly not know? May hadn't glanced too close at what she didn't need while constructing her client's fantasy, she never did, but what she had seen..._ _

__She pocketed the money and lit a fresh cigarette. "He's a big damn' overgrown puppy, you know that?" She stood and scrutinized him. "One hell of a mark."_ _

__"He'll learn." Cora kissed his temple and smiled sadly. "Eventually."_ _

__May sighed and waved a hand, watching him fade out, back to where he had come from. "If you say so, honey." She stretched luxuriously. "Well, that was fun. Can we find a damn' speakeasy already? _Finally_?"_ _

__"The covenant..."_ _

__"Later." She pulled Cora close, wrapping her arms around her. "There'll be time. Let's paint the town red."_ _

__Cora smirked, running her hands down her back. "Alley's done already."_ _

__May grinned. "I love it when you speak my language."_ _

__As the door clicked shut behind them, the room dissolved from the space it had borrowed, leaving nothing but shadow-stains behind._ _

__In the void, there was the sound of a bird's beak opening and shutting, once, then silence._ _

__\----_ _

__"Are. You. **There**?"_ _

__Wilson sat bolt upright, gasping as if woken from a nightmare, but he hadn't--_ _

__He blinked owlishly, looking around the room. _Had_ he been asleep?_ _

__"There you are, pal. Where have you been?"_ _

__"I..." Wilson rubbed his temples with the heels of his palms, wincing as sensation filtered back in. He ached all over, his clothes were wet and stained with mud, and...dear God, was he missing a _tooth_? He touched his tongue to the empty socket gingerly, and his stomach turned at the taste of blood. "...think I was mugged."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"N--never mind." He closed his eyes again, trying to piece together the evening. The fine details evaded him, but that was nothing new. Neither was jerking awake from one haze into another. When had he last really slept?_ _

__"Listen, friend, you're getting me a little worried, here." The voice was soft, soothing, and Wilson didn't look at the radio, rising painfully instead to examine his reflection in the shining panels of the machine. A wreck of a man stared back, and he made a half-hearted attempt to fix his vest. "I'd hate to have to find someone else to work with, after all this effort. After we made a _deal_."_ _

__The suggestion made Wilson's shoulders tight. "Would you?"_ _

__"What?"_ _

__He reached out and splayed one hand over the machine, still not looking back. Did it matter if he looked back?_ _

__"Would you find someone else?"_ _

__"You're not leavin' me a lot of options, pal. If you're not interested..."_ _

__Wilson closed his eyes._ _

__"You are _interested_ , aren't you? You can't tell me you're not curious to see what's behind the curtain."_ _

__"...hated those books..."_ _

__"Are you going to talk sense tonight?"_ _

__Wilson winced as Maxwell's tone flipped from cajoling to snide, half-formed thoughts twisting inside him, not in his mind but in the fine lines of his body, in his heartbeat, in his guts. He looked down at his hand, knowing that no amount of questioning would change a decision already made, and slowly pulled aside the glove._ _

__The scar on the side of his palm had been opened again recently, although not too recently. There were some things Wilson could hardly bring himself to do when he _wasn't_ being watched, and while the late-night conversations left him heavy with desire more often than not, he had been able to push the ache away. Hard enough explaining to himself why what had started as a way to stifle the sounds he couldn't hold back from making during release had turned into _part_ of it, too hard by far to explain to the voice causing the problems in the first place._ _

__"Cat got your tongue?"_ _

__He exhaled and put the scar to his mouth._ _

__"--what the hell are you--"_ _

__The world spiked vibrant white as he bit down, his teeth pressing deep into flesh, the old wound spilling new blood over his tongue, and he twisted his head, tearing it further, sinking his frustration and want and questions into a sudden blitz of thoughtless anger, at himself, at what he had tried to do, at what he was _trying_ to do, all of the useless little failures that he had piled up behind him--_ _

__Wilson took a dizzy breath as the pain faded and swallowed blood, the sound from the radio suddenly coming into focus. He was laughing. Maxwell was _laughing_._ _

__But...it wasn't unkind laughter._ _

__"Nicely done, Wilson!" His name--had he ever used his name, surely not like that--sparked down his spine and out across his ribs as much as the impressed tone, made the heat worse. He had _impressed_ him._ _

__Oh God, what did that even mean?_ _

__"Guess you've got the guts after all."_ _

__He didn't care. He didn't care anymore, even if something in his reflection did, and he smeared the blood over it to keep it from staring back, anointing the blasphemous thing, feeling machinery shudder to life beneath his fingertips. There were things swarming in his eyes, and his figure wasn't the only one hidden behind the gory baptism, not close to it._ _

__"Excellent!"_ _

__The pleased purr of Maxwell's voice was almost lost under the monotone whine in his head, but not quite. Not quite close enough._ _

__"Now throw the switch."_ _

__Wilson rested his hand on it, stopped at the sight of blood running down his arm, a breath's worth of clarity ghosting over his thoughts. What _was_ he thinking? What was he _seeing_? What did madness look like from the _inside_ instead of out?_ _

__" _Do it!_ "_ _

__What was left?_ _

__He threw the switch and pressed his head against the machine, eyes closed, laughter ringing in his ears, unkind this time, so unkind, laughter and the sound of birds taking wing, and as he was pulled under, the vertigo was a relief._ _

__\-----_ _

__The world smelled of wet grass and underbrush, not of the heavy smoke of the city, and if he cared to think about, it confused Wilson. He breathed fresh air._ _

__"Say, pal."_ _

___Maxwell._ _ _

__Wilson shook off the dizziness, heart beating hard in his chest as he pushed himself up on his elbows, staring up at the man standing over him. Passing out had brought clarity on waking, fended off the strange insanity that had overtaken him, but the sight of Maxwell himself threatened to throw him back over. The shadows, the dreams, the glimpses--they matched. When he spoke again, it seemed like the radio had never really happened, like he had been there in the flesh all along. There was something wrong in that, but good _God_ , for all practical purposes, it was wonderfully, beautifully, _right_._ _

__"You don't look so good."_ _

__"I--" Maxwell cut him off before he could launch into an impassioned speech about how bad he probably looked and how good he actually felt._ _

__"You'd better find something to eat before nightfall."_ _

__Maxwell turned, taking a deep drag on a cigar, exhaling smoke. Wilson reached out blindly to his retreating back, the lopsided smile on his face suddenly paralyzed. He sounded...detached._ _

__Like a stranger._ _

__"Maxwell--"_ _

__And he was gone. Simply...gone._ _

__Wilson's outstretched hand slowly closed._ _

__He'd be back._ _

__He'd be back, and he would explain. Explain where they were, explain what had happened, explain why at the last moment his mind had rolled like a restless nightmare, why he had gone back to places he had thought he had burned down._ _

__He'd be back, and he would take his hand._ _

__Wilson quietly hugged his knees to his chest and waited._ _

__Around him, the birdsong quieted, went still as the sun crossed the sky._ _

__Night fell, and crushed him._ _


	4. Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have squandered my resistance  
> For a pocketful of mumbles  
> Such are promises  
> All lies and jest  
> Still, a man hears what he wants to hear  
> And disregards the rest

Blasting static didn't jerk Wilson out of sleep. Pain didn't slither over his shoulder and lance through it into the mattress, pinning him like a butterfly specimen skewered into corkboard. There was no whispering, no staring starling-headed figure that overlapped between his good and bad eye, no blank space where time had been.

He was simply awake, and aware, and it was excruciating.

The window was open, and heat dripped from it, but there was no wind. He rose unsteadily, pulling himself along the wall from the couch rather than reaching for his cane, and stared blankly out over the field. It was day, and it was dark, and he had a distinct feeling the world was ending.

It was the bad side of sane.

He didn't respond to the footsteps, or the hand trailing over the back of his neck, or the very slight pause in between the two that let him know Maxwell already saw something wrong and was already trying to pull him away from the glow on the horizon.

"Enjoying the view, sweetheart?"

"You left me to die."

Maxwell stopped.

"Y-you brought me here, a-a-and you luh, left me to die."

"Wilson--"

Wilson jerked away as Maxwell tried to turn him, a dangerous heat behind his eyes turning into a tic at the corner of his mouth, turning the flat calm of his voice shrill. "D-do you know what it's _like_?" He looked down at his hand, through it, at the scar on the palm. "Do you nnn--know what it's like to die and die and d- _die_ , to starve and freeze and b--b, b-- _burn_ , and _break_ \--"

"Calm down--"

" _Look at you!_ " He did turn at that, too fast, and the pain that spiked through his side pulled down the barrier he had been trying to keep up, and the bitter laughter spilled over his tongue. "Y-you don't _know_! Y-you don't know what it's l-l-l-like to be _flensed_ , you're--you're fuh, _fucking_ perfect, _fucking_ immaculate, and y-you--I--" He clutched at his head, shoulders shaking hard in his hysteria. "Y-you watched me b, break into this--this _husk_ , and you m-made me forget, y-you l-left me in the dark, you--" His teeth clenched and he shut his eyes tightly, the dry heat behind them burning. "--you made me w-w-w- _worship_ you-- _you made me worship you and you don't know h-how much that h-h-h-h-hurt--_ "

He could only force the last word out as a sob, and he covered his eyes with his hands and slumped against the wall as the tears finally broke through, the sound of his crying muted by the false softness of the house, the thick carpets and bookshelves, but still so brutally, miserably, _loud_.

It was the only sound in the room for what seemed like a long time, gradually fading from abject, miserable sobbing into staccato whimpers, and when Maxwell finally spoke, Wilson flinched, but his tone was unnaturally soft, self-directed, devoid of any of the usual facades he put up.

"Good God, sweetheart, what happened to you?"

That was worth a real laugh, or at least the ghost of one. "Nnn--n, no good g-g-gods." He swallowed thickly as Maxwell knelt beside him, hiccoughing as he tried to put words together again. "N-never met one."

"The...gods you have met." Cloth rustled, and when a handkerchief touched Wilson's fingertips, he opened his hand long enough to accept it, not moving otherwise. "They have somethin' to say about crying?"

Wilson crumpled the handkerchief mutely. 

"Or was that just your parents?"

"D-did you know that your a-accent s-slips when you're nervous?"

Maxwell recoiled, and Wilson looked up, the anger flooding his chest like thin acid tempered only by the realization that his master was only just looking at him now, that he had tried to spare Wilson what little dignity he had left, and that unclenched his teeth enough. Just enough.

"What the _hell_ are you--"

"Th-there. Right there. Y, you lay it on h-heavier b-because you don't want me to know, and I d-d-don't nuh, know why, and I won't ask, all right, I w-w-won't ask because w-we _both_ have things that--that hurt too much, s-so just--just _don't_. _Please._ " He swiped at his eyes with the handkerchief, then buried his face in it, the sharp bite of his words defanged to a hoarse whisper. "Please."

Maxwell's eyes were definitely on him now, his own teeth bared and his breathing heavy, but as Wilson's shoulders slumped, so did his. "...I guess I deserved that." After a moment, less guardedly, he added, "All of it."

"M...Maxwell...I just..." Wilson exhaled shakily. "I j-just want to nnn--nuh, nuh--" His lips worked fruitlessly, frustration creasing his brow.

"Look, I--goddammit, Wilson, I don't know myself, I'm not the same person I was then, you--things changed with you here, all right?"

"Nnnn--" Wilson ran his hands through his hair in agitation. " _Not_ \--I _know_ that _you're_ \--different, it's not--not that, I--" He stopped, tried again. "Th-that time, what was different that t, t-- _time_? When--when I was--" He clutched his shoulder unconsciously, invisible shadows caressing his fingertips. "--when I was sih, s-s-s-s-- _sick_ , when I told you to k-kill me, wh--why did you--why didn't you--"

"You gave up."

Wilson's hand slowly uncurled.

"You never gave up before. Not once. Not ever. No matter what happened to you. No matter what I did, no matter what the entire goddamned world threw at you. You never gave up."

"So..." Wilson stared down at the floor. "...th-that was what you w-wanted?"

"No." Maxwell tilted his head back up gently, then slid his hand down to Wilson's, pulling it away from the scar, fingers entwining with his. "God, no."

The kiss was lingering, unburdened by the usual stiffness of the parts they played for each other, and when Wilson wrapped his arms around him, careful not to touch his back, Maxwell returned the gesture, gripping him tightly, as if he might somehow fall and be lost. Wilson wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a possibility, although the world was no longer ending, or else had ended and been replaced by the next one in the cycle. He had vague visions of bone-fed grass, of a masked fox slumbering, mind floating easily on the surface of clear waters.

Maxwell didn't stand after they parted, searching Wilson's expression instead. "Don't suppose we're even."

"It doesn't h-hurt anymore," he said softly.

"Bullshit."

Wilson turned his head and ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to lose the calm, but not wanting to lose the chance, either. "...y-you're _different_. ...hhh, h." He swallowed, throat clicking. " _How_ different?"

The response was a long time coming, and halting when it came. "...enough you're not the only one who...forgets some things." He stopped, started, stopped again, sighed heavily. "...enough to...say I'm sorry."

The admission made Wilson's stomach crawl--he had tried not to hope that whatever darkness had held Maxwell so tightly for so long before slowly leeching away had been the sole source of his vicious nature, of every little cruelty he had inflicted on him, but it had been there, fervent enough to be madness in its own right. He didn't want to believe there had been any of _his_ Maxwell--his _master_ \--in the retreating back that disappeared into that awful first night, and so many after it. He didn't want to believe he was the one responsible for the way he had been shattered.

He had wanted it to be easy.

Wilson didn't quite laugh at the thought, but his lips quirked into a lopsided smile. When had any of this ever been easy?

"Did I say something funny, pal?"

"N-no, I'm just..." He swallowed and directed the smile up at Maxwell. "...th-thank you. F, for." He gestured lamely before shrugging it off. "...thank you."

"...heh." Maxwell straightened up. "You don't make a goddamned bit of sense, pet." He smirked, offering a hand. "Funny how that grows on you."

Wilson accepted the help up, leaning on Maxwell's chest longer than was strictly necessary. "I'm...I'm d-doing well today. M-my. M-my leg, I mean. M-maybe we could...walk? T-together? I f-found some--"

"I don't do the great outdoors, kid."

Wilson flinched at the immediate stiffness of his master's body. "You u-used to--"

"Yeah, too much. Damn' sick of it." He sighed as his pet wilted. "That doesn't mean--go for a walk, take the mutt, it'll be good for you both. Don't wear yourself out too much and I'll read to you when you get back."

Wilson's face flushed slightly. The fact that his halved vision turned reading for more than fifteen minutes at a time into pounding headaches was still a frustration and an embarassment, but Maxwell...was more than pleasant as a narrator. When he acquiesced. If he acquiesed. "You...m-mean that?"

"Yeah. I'll be here when you get back."

He hesitated, then nodded, brightening. "Maxwell...th-thank you."

"Don't get lost. Don't get overheated. And for Christ's sake, try to remember the plot this time, I'm not backtracking again."

"Y-yes, Maxwell."

Maxwell didn't spare a smile until his pet had turned away, and it faded as he lit a cigar and watched him leave.

He'd be here, all right.

There wasn't anywhere left to go.


	5. October 1903

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 1903

If the coins made any sound as they were tossed down, it was muted by the sawdust. They landed nauseatingly close to the dark stain that was spreading there, and it took time for a shaking hand to lower from soiled lips to retrieve and count them. Not quite long enough to prevent a response.

"...this isn't what we agreed on."

"It's what it was worth."

"You--can't say that--"

"You're a terrible lay, Carter."

William Carter didn't look up at his client, staring at the darkened sawdust, covering and uncovering his mouth.

"Shouldn't be. Been at it long enough."

His hand clenched in the dirt. "I need more than this--"

"Cry me a fucking river." The man fastened his pants. "Swallow next time." He paused for a moment as Carter lurched forward onto his hands, then snorted, watching with mingled disgust and amusement as he was sick. "Fucking useless pig."

Even this late in the fall, the California heat was sweltering, making Carter's head swim and his stomach clench, and as he listened to the stranger's footsteps fading he imagined that heat intensifying on him like an ant under a lens, his flesh burning, charring to cinders, screaming all the while, like the part of him that was screaming now, screaming and screaming and screaming--

**No.**

He could keep that part down. That part was weak. Dated. Useless. _Fucking useless pig._ Keep it down. 

Keep it down like his goddamned weak body couldn't.

Burned. Melted like wax, the bones left behind in a stinking pile. What a lovely exhibit for the sideshow.

The thought played a grin over his face, as much as the wounded animal screaming inside of him kept his teeth clenched tight.

" _Heh._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the clearing stands a boxer  
> And a fighter by his trade  
> And he carries the reminders  
> Of every glove that laid him down  
> And cut him till he cried out  
> In his anger and his shame  
> "I am leaving, I am leaving"  
> But the fighter still remains
> 
> \--The Boxer, Simon and Garfunkel


	6. FAQ (Fair Accusation Quota)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notes and ephemera

Wait wait wait.  First off, special thanks to my darling dearest Crow for suggesting how to do the namedrop in the dream scene, because I was completely at a loss and as usual, they have the best possible ideas.  Best best.  Love you dove.  
  
okay now you can yell at me  
  
**Fair Accusation Quota**

  * Eleven MONTHS?  For THIS?



  
Okay yeah I have absolutely no excuse for five of those months.  I really don't.  Straight-up smacking that right down on the table.  I had time, I didn't use it for more than beginning the dang' thing.  My b.  
  
The six months after that...were unexpected.  It's honestly strange to me to be sitting here writing the end notes on this at all, because I think a large part of my hesitation to finish this is because the beginning was part of a Before for me, and in closing it, it's another part acknolwedged as an After.  It's another thing put away in a box, and I've had more than my fair share of putting things away in boxes since the start of the year.  
  
That doesn't mean I haven't been around or that I haven't been watching, though, and I want to thank each and every one of you who have been wih me through this dry spell.  I somehow have still been getting kudos notifications in my inbox, and those have gotten me through some truly rough days.  You guys are patient, sustaining, and awesome.  Thank you for being you.

  * Are you putting that first as a ploy to go easy on you?



  
God it's like stupid o'clock in the morning and I forgot to eat I don't even know anymore

  * More OCs?  Really?



  
I couldn't do the whorefic without my founding ladies of the night for a few reasons:  
  
One, I really couldn't.  It's a very long story as to how they're related to the little girl from Wilson's dreams and the other nightmare factions, and one I wouldn't mind telling someday, but for the moment, all I can say is that they were involved and they were needed.  
  
Two, I knew from the start that if I was going to write whorefic, I wouldn't be satisfied unless I showed a complete picture with it: The fantasy aspect behind whore kink, the ideal for sex workers, and the harsh reality of prostitution.  May and Cora provide for the first and live in the second, but the journey there was not an easy one.  The last I had planned for a very long time.  
  
Three...I mean, come on, they're my founding ladies of the night.  It'd be ill-mannered to leave them out.

  * Fine, tell us who the hell they are then.



  
May and Cora are a pair of succubi who work at a nexus between worlds.  They have a penchant for sex tourism in the literal sense of the phrase, going from dimension to dimension on sex safaris, taking only pictures and leaving only satisfied smiles.  Occasionally they get snarled in something a little bigger, like what happened here.  They're both devoted mothers, and they're both keenly familiar with both insanity and starvation.  
  
As an aside, May has been chain-smoking, sweet-talking, and rocking pinstripe suits since 2006, and the parallels are occasionally disconcerting.  
  


Really disconcerting.

[(Art by Icarus)](https://www.patreon.com/notfun?ty=c)  
  
\--Teeth?  Covenants?  Bliss?  The fuck?  
  
"This answers questions you haven't asked yet."  
"IT WORKED FOR HIGURASHI"  
  
When I wrote God of Second Chance and followed it with Flipping the Board, I knew that I would be going back and retrofitting the events in between.  I had NO idea know how long that would take, or how involved it would get.  The revelation that made the entire project make sense didn't come to me until about a month after the latter fic, while I was busy scribbling away at PWPs to celebrate the rough stuff being over for a while.  The next major fic skips back to Wilson's recovery from the ordeal of Adventure Mode, and will shed some light on what's been said here.  Alternatively, if you're reading this sequentially in the future when that fic is done, this will shed light on what will have going to be said _there_.  
  
the answer is yes I'm a complete mess I'm sorry  
  
\--Was Carter's client Wes?  
  
God no.  
  
\--Was Wilson's OTHER client Wes?  
  
Hell yeah.  
  
okay so only in my head it's a fantasy sequence it doesn't affect canon beyond its effect on Wilson I'm allowed to imply a little fanservice so help me God  
  
\--So that other major fic...  
  
...is already started.  I've been working on it in bits and pieces while stuck on this one, and actually utilized a scrapped beginning from Flipping the Board.  I don't want to tempt fate by saying how long it'll take, but if it takes as long as this one, please just murder me.  Murder me straight out.  Tell Raile to feed my cat.  
  
\--Any final thoughts?  
  
If I never have to write a blowjob scene again, it'll be too soon.  
  
\--But will you?  
  
Slated for the next fic.  Raile.  Raile please feed my cat.

 

_For art, extras, and news, come hang out at the[Maxwil House of Ill Repute](http://maxwilhouse.tumblr.com/).  Updates almost never!_


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